


The Crimson Dragon of Mt. Bilskirnir

by Ariasangelsandroses



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Actually this will definitely get kinky, Dragon Thor, M/M, Thief Prince Loki, This may get kinky, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariasangelsandroses/pseuds/Ariasangelsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 87th Age of the Silver Moon, when the Asgardian Empire was yet young, comes a tale of magic and a reluctant hero. A fire breathing beast born in blood and the damsel hardly in distress. The thief cloaked in night and the nightmare who loved him.<br/>-A Thorki Dragon AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue (Things are Getting Hot in Here)

**Author's Note:**

> Quick Prologue... Un-Beta'd so forgive me for any mistakes.

He dove behind the cracked stone monolith a moment before fire descended upon him. The churning, wall of flames parted on either side of him, and released the putrid scent, the ends of his black curls crisping in the air. His breathing was stifled under the putrid fumes of sulfur. Just when he was sure, from the way his lungs burned that he was moments from death, the fire stopped billowing and he felt the roar of rage ripple in the stones beneath him, the very earth shivering in fear of the beast. 

The cries of his compatriots that quickly morphed into screams, the clash of weapons against impenetrable scales… there was no scenario in which they survived this.

He reached out and took his sword in hand, trying to still the trembling in his fingers. He hated this. He’d always imagined that he would face death with his signature composure, making a clever quip before plunging into danger. But even the darkest of his journeys, the most deadly of his foes paled before the monster that he now faced. A scarlet beast with blue eyes and golden horns, that had ripped a man apart with ivory claws, shredding flesh and bone into diagonal hunks of meat with the efficiency of a butcher’s saw and splattering their small company with blood and bits of brain. They had run in opposite directions, the company dissolving under the onslaught but only he had thought to hide behind the monolith, others had dove into the mountains of treasure, seeking solitude in what they had so ardently pursued. 

They had, if their screams were an indicator, been fished out one by one. 

But now the roaring was descending to a low growl, and the battle cries had ebbed. The monster was loose once more, and he knew that it would sniff him out. He had one last chance to save himself, an ability he had hidden from the rag-tag band of misfits who’d set off with upon this doomed quest. One ability that had given him the reputation far and wide of being the greatest thief in the Nine Kingdoms. 

He closed his eyes, doing his best to calm the rapid beat of his heart and not listen to the drag of claws against the rough stone… a noise which originated far too closely to where he knelt. He began to murmur, to form words. The words were releasing the flood within him, opening the gates and pushing his power through. Images raced each other in swirls, green light danced beneath his eyelids. He saw flowers blooming and a doe dying and the cracking of glaciers in the far off ice wastes. He needed more time, more time to reach into the far off corners of his mind and gather his strength. 

Once again he smelt sulfur, and knew his time was up.

He stepped from behind the monolith, opened his eyes, raised his sword, and faced the dragon.

The mighty Thor, lord of thunder and master of this mountain, looked down upon this last remnant of prey. The other mortals had fallen before him like blades of wheat to a scythe. Their blood dripped down his jaw, their bones cracked beneath his fingers. The perfume of their fear lingered in his den, though their souls had departed. And now only one remained. He had watched it scurry, had tracked it as best he could while engaged with two mortals, one with a battle axe and the other a mace. Mortal weapons that could not pierce his hide, which they had soon realized when he snapped their arms into crumpled lines of splintered bone. They had howled then, and the other mortals had abated their attack, stunned by Thor’s might and the inevitability of their doom.  
Thor had chuckled deep in his throat then. It had been too long since he had fought mortals, and he did not remember them being so fragile...so tiny.  
And now he was staring down at the last insect that had tried to bite him whilst he slumbered. Once this one perished, Thor could return to his sleep. 

However, for now, he would put on a bit of a show for this last pitiable creature. He would enjoy this.

Thor advanced, lugging his considerable size through his cavern, flinging bodies like children's rag-dolls and knocking a glittering wave of gold coin to the stone floor with a thunderous crash. It was to his shock, that the mortal did not await the inevitable in its hidey-hole. The mouse instead stepped from behind his pillar. It raised a sword at him. 

Thor the bringer of thunder, and slayer of armies almost laughed anew… 

...but then he sensed it. That trickling tingle… that buzz along his spines that he felt only when thunder crashed about his body in a storm…  
Thor let loose a roar and dove at the mortal.  
This was no mouse he faced.  
This was a sorcerer.

The sorcerer prepared to loosen the blast. It was the most powerful magic he knew, all of what his dam had taught him when he was a child, tripping in his ornamental robes and slipping out of the armband that had denoted his undesired elevated rank.  
The buzzing in his head of all his magic accumulated, gathered for a final strike, was almost as loud as the dragon’s infuriated roar. And it roared horribly, its mouth agape and revealing rows and rows of ivory teeth longer than the sorcerer's entire body. 

He would not let this thing win, if he must die this day… let it not be said he crept in the shadows. Let it not be said that he quivered behind a stone to await death.  
He shouted, a high keening war cry, undistinguishable above the madness of a furious dragon, the crashing of the treasure all around them and the shaking of the cavern walls.  
Finally, he let go.  
A rush of emotions, fizzles of lightning running up and down his veins; his magic and his strength exploding forth in a last, desperate effort to fight the dragon off. He could see nothing but green, and then all sensation started to erode away in his extremities, his legs were all but paralyzed… he fell facedown into the dirt, not even having the strength to hold himself up on his hands and knees.  
The ground was rough, and the parched stone caught the tears he couldn't keep from rolling out of his eyes at the emptiness he felt, the exhaustion. He let out a slow breath. Had he slain the beast? He did not know, nor did it matter.  
Prince Loki, Third Son of the House of Laufey had not died a coward or a thief, but he had died as a sorcerer and as a warrior in his own right.  
And for that Loki sent out a final prayer of thanks to whatever gods there may be as the darkness closed in around him.


	2. Thor the Oh So Magnificent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki isn't dead, shocker, and meets his dragon captor.

Loki awoke. He was warm, comfortable. He knew Arlen would come in soon, banging the side of his pot and telling them all to rise. They were so close to the mountain now, and Lurwick would want to start towards it as soon as breakfast was done and camp was packed. Loki groaned and clutched his arms closer… perhaps if he falsified illness he could gain ten more minutes of slumber…

“Awaken, sorcerer.”

Loki obeyed the voice and shot back to consciousness. That voice.

It all came rushing back. They had reached the mountain, but the dragon. It had been alive. Their information had been wrong, the red dragon of Mt. Bilskirnir yet lived. The beast had swooped down upon them while their mouths had gaped at the cavern heaped with precious gold and stones.  
Arlen had grabbed Urlak and they had been dancing with glee. Morvan had kissed Slev right on the mouth. Even the reticent Lurwick had cracked a smile over the unimaginable wealth crusting the entire cave like mountains, replicas of the treacherous peaks which ringed Bilskirnir like a teeth to a great maw.  
Loki had known they’d discovered a fortune, and he had allowed himself a moment to relish this, his greatest score yet.

But then the sunlight filtering from the entrance to the cavern had turned crimson as it was filtered through wings that kicked up a hurricane. Expansive membranes that allowed the being between them to defy gravity, to swoop in unheard and to bleed dry those who were foolish enough to thieve from the Lord of Thunder. And then…

Loki leapt up.

Or at least he tried to, but was quickly yanked down by… he put his fingers to his neck and inspected the circlet. He had botched enough jobs in his youth to be familiar with a collar… it was heavy and from the feel of it, solid silver. That, at least, was new and extremely disappointing. Loki was used to prying rusted iron off with the rings of his manacles, and the precious metal, seamless and thick, would prove harder to manipulate. Loki’s fingers trembled over it and when he touched it, the heavy silver on his wrists rubbed down his skin.

He couldn’t prevent his violent yank against the restraints, amateurish and born of panic, which made the chains rattle and gold coins slide out of place beneath him, tumbling down the sheer cliff of unimaginable wealth.

He had been lain on what seemed like thick, expensive rugs, Elfish in their appearance but without his fence he couldn’t be sure. There were more piled and heavy with dust all around him. The piles of gold and gems, reflected his panicked image back at him in various states of warp… and he spotted in the gloom what looked like a bone white wardrobe half buried in the glittering treasure. His neck ached, proving that no pillow had aided him in his state of unconsciousness.

Loki took stock of himself, trying to control the creeping panic that was already causing him to make mistakes. He had to imagine he was in his flat, back in the village. He had to be as calculating as if this was just another job he had taken for quick coin.

Loki lay out the facts before himself. He was still alive for one, that had been a shock. However he couldn’t count on that lasting very long… the gods had never favored the deformed son of Laufey. He tried to stand, but found his body still wouldn’t hold him up after that suicide blast. Loki cursed at himself for that. It had been stupid, prideful and completely out of character. Where had that sudden urge to die in a blaze of glory come from? Perhaps his brothers had finally gotten to him. Helblindi and Byleistr had spent their days trying to fill their kid brother’s head with stories of great warriors of the times old, when Johtunheim had been a true kingdom and no fiefdom to be crushed beneath Imperial Asgard’s heel.

Loki put his hands to his neck, fingering the pulse there and tried to reach inside for his power, using this pathway of lifeblood… but he was dry inside. He couldn’t find the usual warm, sticky nectar that was his magic, pushing and sloshing inside him… looking for release. He felt empty. Loki felt… alone, abandoned.

“Your magic is kept from you by the Collar of Llosgach Sorcerer.”

A head appeared in Loki’s sight. A head easily the size of two oxen, snaking out of an antichamber. The sinuous ripple of neck reminded Loki of a snake he’d seen dance before a street performer in Vanaheim, before the man had been struck down one warm and balmy afternoon. The snake the man had charmed a thousand times before, had turned deadly for no reason other than it could.

Thor the magnificent swayed before Loki and there was nothing Loki could do but await the inevitable. For the serpent to destroy him because it could.

Loki curled his fingers, bit his lip and waited. However, the dragon simply bobbed before him, his blue eyes never shuttering, and his nostrils flaring.

“Well dragon why do you make me wait? If you are going to eat me, do so already.”

Thor did blink then, a scaly click of lid that gave Loki respite from the desperate flight-or-fight signals scorching in his brain. Triggered by that reptilian, horribly intelligent gaze.

“Do you wish me to consume you, Sorcerer?”

“I would wish you would come to some action, lizard.”

Loki’s temper had made him rash, and he was sure the beast would resume that terrible roaring and incinerate him on the spot. Instead Thor made a deep rumble in his chest, jaw chomping slightly… it took a moment, but Loki recognized the motion after his initial horror faded from watching those thick white fangs sliding against each other.

Thor was…laughing.

“You speak haughtily sorcerer. As becomes one of your race and beauty.”

His race and… how much did this reptile know of him?

“I know not what you mean, my lord.”

Loki looked up at the beast through his eyelashes. He did not know of dragons, but it was a look that had lured many beings of many species into telling him what he wanted to know. The dragon bared his teeth in what Loki assumed was some kind of nightmarish grin.

“A Johtun if I am not mistaken. One of the far north.”

Loki skimmed his skin with his fingers to assure himself his pallor was not blue and his brow and cheeks were not raised with markings.

“I saw your true form when you lost consciousness. I was unsure if you were to survive.”

His true form? If that was the case, Loki’s magic must have utterly deserted him. How close to death had he been for his body to give up its most basic of survival instincts? To conceal was to survive.

“And now that I have? What now, my lord?”

The dragon moved then, his front claws emerging from the antechamber, a horror emerging and shimmering from a hole in the earth. Thor moved until Loki had to crane his head so he could gaze directly above him. The dragon’s hot breath poured down on him, the scent of sulfur and ash so strong his eyes watered.

“I will keep you here, Johtun. I have never seen one of your kind so small, nor with skin as fair a blue. You are a great treasure, and I would see you added to my hoard.”

The dragon conveyed boastful pride, preening in his newfound ownership of Loki and Loki let the idiot creature bask in it. His mind began to reel. His eyes started searching for exits, cataloguing the massive cave entrance far to his left, and the three deep catacombs that must lead to the very bones of the mountain. Although Thor presumably had emerged from one, as the tip of his tail, the length of a military frigate, still resided with it. That was an exit best to avoid.

On the one hand, part of him wanted to snarl at the creature and tell it to kill him now. Loki did not enjoy being caged, memories of his past started to choke him more than the damn collar he wore. Memories of gold filagree, rich heavy satin, icy tundra and the crushing weight of propriety threatened to make him ill.

Loki considered it one of the worst times in his life...well this might be a very close second. His damn pride was compelling him to shout the beast down, to screech in its face that he would allow no man, beast, king or dragon chain him. He would not again be a bauble confined to a shelf, for others to look upon but never speak to. Unable to learn, to grow. A scream kept locked inside as he simpered and smiled and batted his damn eyelashes.

But above all else, even his pride, Loki was a creature of survival. When he could no longer bear live in his ancestral home, a dagger along his own throat, or when he was imprisoned in the slums after a job gone wrong and forgotten for months while awaiting a trial that never happened, and when he was so poor he couldn’t afford bread or gruel, had curled up onto his stomach and waited to starve to death… something had pulled him through. The sheer will to survive, to see what tomorrow would bring for a sly, clever creature like himself.

And it is that same feeling that made him approach the beast, to draw closer and stare it down. He took a deep inhale through his nose and chased away his fear, for he saw intelligence in that gaze, a certain warmth and proud fury.

“I am no treasure, dragon. I am but an urchin of the streets. I could show you my many flaws, the brands on my wrists that mark me as a thief. See beneath the shackle there? The T of my trade? I am a rat that has crawled into your nest. If you would let me go…”

The dragon made that disconcerting ruk-ruk noise again deep in his throat, again a signal of some sort of reptilian humor.

“Do you think me a fool, Johtnar?”

Loki tilted his head, black hair falling in his eyes, “Never a fool, mighty Thor.”

“Do you know why I kept you, thief?”

“No, lord dragon.”

He had some inkling that he was being kept only to keep the meat on his bones fresh, like the hogs in the butcher shop beaneth his tiny attic in the village. They had been kept in a pen so that the butchers customers could pick their favorite and hear it squeal when it was slaughtered.

“Perhaps you enjoy toying with your meals?”

The dragon blinked at him and let out a puff of air, scented so heavily of sulfur that it made Loki gag and his eyes water. It seemed to be a huff of annoyance, for it was accompanied by a rolling of slit pupils.

“I am no cat to be entertained so, thief. I am a dragon. Of the house of Odin. Bringer of Thunder.”

Loki tilted his head. The dragon seemed to be surprisingly even tempered now, but he had seen him in that berserker rage, ripping apart his companions with the wet tear of rending flesh. Loki would have to tread carefully with this beast. It would take every trick of manipulation he possessed in order to stay alive.

Every second was a victory, one more second he had outlived his traveling companions.

“Very well, lord dragon. I have heard of you. Your fame stretched even to my small, insignificant village.”

“Where do you hail from, little Johtun? What is your name?”

“I am Loki, my lord, of… Barr in the north of Vanaheim.”

He naimed a town on the border of Johtunheim and Vanaheim and only prayed the dragon had no familiarity with the place. He had never seen Barr but on his tutor’s maps and knew naught on it. He had only been a good student when he’d seen the use. And if he was never to apply his knowledge what use had there been?

The dragon advanced and Loki attempted to scramble away, only to be harshly reminded of the collar and encounter the end of his tether with a sharp yank.

Thor loomed over him, and Loki’s heart palpated. He was caught momentarily between sheer terror, which had faded as they had spoken and awe. The size of the dragon, head the size of a cottage, the gold horns that spiraled from his brow, the regal way it held itself, the way its scarlet scales glittered brighter than the rubies glinting in the mountains of gold around them… it was a sight to behold.

“And tell me Loki, are there many frost giants in Barr?”

“Oh there are a few of us mi’lord.”

“Do not lie to me, Loki. Barr has no frost giants.”

Loki audibly cursed, a flash filled his mind of Lurwick and the others being ripped apart and charred with molten fire.

“How?”

“You severely underestimate my abilities, mortal. I am no fool. No wonder your compatriots met with such an unpleasant end.”

A throb swept through Loki at the dragon’s callous mention of the men he’d traveled with. He felt no sorrow at their loss. Felt no sorrow for the gentle camaraderie they’d shared, the well-natured ribbing and laughter. He felt no loss of the carousing and drunken warbling under the moonlight, Arlen grabbing Morvan and swinging him into a jig all but screaming the chorus to songs in their native tongue whilst the others stomped their feet and beat their tankards in time.

He did not miss them, especially when Loki had planned to betray them all.

He had planned to lead them to the cave of the fabled treasure, and when they discovered it a myth, he would sell them out to Imperial guards as thieves against the crown on the return from the summit, and collect his reward.

But the hoard had been real, the dragon long missing from the skies over the Empire had still lived, and now Loki was its prisoner.

“Dragon I doubt you keep me here as only an object of beauty. I am living, unlike your mounds of gold and precious stones. I will require food and water in order to continue to draw breath, unless you wish to admire a corpse. I will require care, and dragons are not the nurturing sort, or so the bards tell us. Why then do you imprison me?”

The dragon twisted its head, the air surrounding its maw shimmering as it would above the heat of the desert. The movement exposed its armored neck, and he saw thin spines decorating its jawline that appeared to be dipped in gold.

“You, my Johtun sorcerer, may prove well worth the effort. My reasons are my own, little one.”

“If you will not tell me, dragon, then I will assume the worst.”

“If I wished to eat you I would have done so already. I may still choose to do so and there will be nothing you can do to stop me.”

Loki nodded, acceding the point.

“If you do not tell me, then I shall assume that you will defile me and roast me when you have finished.”

Thor opened his mouth as if to laugh at the mere suggestion, but Loki narrowed his serpent’s eyes and said, “Jane Foster.”

The dragon froze, its laughter dying and a flicker of flame escaping from its nostrils. Loki knew he should stop. He shouldn’t…

“Darcy Lewis.”

“Are those names to mean something?” If possible that rumbling voice sounded rougher, strained with emotion of some sort.

“Names of two virgin sacrifices the people of the nearby villages sent to you to appease your appetite and ask for a fertile harvest. When you were worshiped as a god by the mortals who lived in the shadow of this mountain. Do you plan to do to me what you did to them?”

“You are no virgin, Johtun, so you have nothing to fear.”

Loki raised one brow high, “Am I not?”

 

The cave was quiet, but for the heavy rush of air from the dragon as its lungs filled with enough air to level a windmill.

“You cannot speak truthfully, Johtun. A creature like you a virgin? Something so slippery and sly?”

“I do not know if you wish to compliment me, mi’lord or insult my honor.”

“No of course not I…”

The air by the dragon’s head shimmered more violently as it gave off more heat. That was concentrated in its cheeks. Was the dragon, thunder bringer and beast of nightmares… blushing? Silence fell between the two once more, and this time it was strained by awkwardness that was nearly comical when it was taken into account that it was between a mighty dragon and its captive.

“If that is all, dragon, I find myself in need of rest. Unless of course you require me for another task?”

“No. Sleep Johtun. I shall occupy myself elsewhere.”

The dragon slipped backwards into the darkness of the cavern, claws scraping as it slithered quickly away from such an awkward social gaffe.

Loki blinked after it. In all his twenty one winters he had never met a beast as foolhardy as this. One moment it razed a company of warriors to the ground, roaring and laughing with demonic glee, the next it was a haughty lord that wore its pride and honor like a familiar cloak, and then there was this tongue-tied fool, for whom words were a sword he managed to fall upon without a modicum of tact or grace.

He remembered his mother laughing at him as a child, saying that when Loki’s life had two avenues to choose from it always chose the third. The sheer oddness of him, coupled with the turn his life had taken… Loki glanced up as if expecting some god to be laughing at his expense among the intimidating spears of stalactites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extremely long and hopefully doesn't drag too much.  
> Dragon Thor is so adorable to me, which is a total 180 from how i introduced him in the prologue...oops.  
> And I promise sex will happen! I will earn that explicit rating.  
> -Arias


	3. Loki Can't Catch A Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finds himself in even more peril.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so horribly sorry about how long it took me to get around to this. I've been taking summer classes and they were KILLER. But i'm done now and should be able to put out a lot more regular updates!

                     Bored. That was it, Loki was bored. How could he ever have thought his capture one of the strangest things that had happened to him? If he did not have so much experience as a bauble he would have no doubt lost his wits among shadows and whispering winds of this tunnel.  
The dragon had learned how to take care of him quickly, as Loki had awoken from his slumber to a ravenous hunger and nigh unquenchable thirst. The beast had procured a wineskin, one so soft it felt like butter between his fingers as he squeezed the liquid between his parched lips, the simple pelt no doubt worth the rent of his attic home several times over. He was also given a roasted animal, sometimes a rabbit or mole. Once a rat, though Loki had blanched at it and refused to touch the crisped vermin. In truth he had eaten much worse in rough times but he had wanted to see the dragon’s reaction. He had hoped to spur some sort of anger, but instead had only been rewarded with a deer haunch instead. The dragon sometimes ate with him, snapping up a cow or deer with a jerking of his head and sharp crackling of bones, seemingly so enthused in its devouring that it loathed to chew. Utterly appalling table manners and Loki told him so. The dragon had simply agreed and taken smaller bites next time.

                  It had infuriated Loki. How dare the beast be so damn agreeable and accommodating? Loki had gotten the feeling, when he’d complained of cold and been given a thick, soft fur rug, that if he didn’t know better… he was being spoilt. But for removing his shackles the dragon gave him whatever he asked for, even when Loki got creative. A feather pillow, a candlestick, even a sapphire the size of his head all because he asked. Why did the damn beast want him to be happy? What was his purpose in being here?  
And where the hell did he go at times like this?

“Dragon?”

             Silence ricocheted back at him; his own voice swirled around the cavern. Loki was alone but for the water drippings from the un-seeable ceiling far above and the gasping whoosh of the wind tunneling its way through the cavern.  
He was alone. Well and truly alone. Obviously Thor the Magnificent had fallen asleep somewhere deep in the bowels of Mt. Bilskirnir. Loki was completely unsupervised.  
This was his chance.

     Loki knew the collar and manacles were made to withstand magical attack. But what so many of his captors didn’t count on, what he was hoping this dragon wasn’t counting on was…  
The sickening noise indicated what Loki had been pressed to do. He flung his head back, his lips tightening as he breathed through the pain, and it faded fast as it always did. He pushed his snapped thumb against his palm and slipped it out of the heavy, chaffing silver.  
Loki then started to run his fingers over the left manacle, and found the soldering marks that meant the damn dragon had melted the metal into a solid ring, and there was no seam to exploit.

  
       Panic started creeping up the back of Loki’s spine, the sixth sense he’d developed crawling through the homes of Asgard’s rich and noble flared up. He didn’t have much time. Loki knew the collar and cuffs were warded against his tampering but what about the metal links?  
Loki fingered the chain, crawling across the coins and sacrificing stealth for speed. He had to be quick, who knows how much boredom this draconian nightmare planned to subject him to?  
        Loki stopped when he felt a sudden softness, nearly imperceptible but it would do. Loki took the link, and crawled back to the wardrobe he’d seen earlier, half-sunken amongst the mass of treasure. Loki risked standing and falling to his death to strike the link against the iron fastenings on the bleached white door. Again and again he struck it, leaning all his weight into that single point of impact. His thumb protested the abuse, sending jolts of pain up his arm.  
        Finally he cracked and the thing all but disintegrated, rust and metal crumbling like powder in his hands, ages of neglect catching up to the metallic ring.

        Freedom was not something to be squandered, and Loki didn’t even allow himself a moment to bask in the delicious feeling. He knew from experience that he had to move, now.  
Loki clung deep into the gold and started his descent down the mountain of coins. He pulled his throbbing hand against his chest and half-climbed, half-slid down the dragon’s hoard. Heights didn’t bother Loki, it wouldn’t do for a thief to fear sliding from battlements or creeping along rooftops… but this was dizzying even for him and especially without a cushion of magic to prevent him from crippling himself or worse. Loki half-slid, half-climbed down the constantly shifting wall of wealth. He reminded himself of the great sand dunes of Nidavellir, tried to rationalize that this was hardly different…

      A misstep almost ended the young thief, his feet not sinking deep enough to the coins and was expunged. He fell, careening into the darkness. Loki swung his hands out and dug deep into the rapidly passing mountain in front of him, thrusting his hands in even as he fell, as the metal cut and bruised his skin. His inertia drug him down several feet, the gold kept slicing the skin from his hands. He bit his lip until it bled to keep from screaming at the pain. Finally he skidded to a halt.

      Loki didn’t want to look at his hands, didn’t want to see what had just happened to them. It felt as though he’d broken several other fingers, and his skin was in ribbons. But he had to keep moving, had no idea when Thor would poke his head out from the deep darkness and emerge fiery and furious.  
      Loki scaled the rest of the hoard and fell to his knees on the stone cavern floor. He didn’t dare look up and see the obvious imprint of his escape, knew he wouldn’t have long for the dragon to find him, especially with the scent of his blood in the air. And so he staggered back to his feet and ran.

         

 

* * *

 

 

              Thor sat half-submerged in the lake. Steam rolled around his body in billows and the hot bubbling spring water soothed his mighty limbs. It had been a stressful few days, and he believed he had more than earned this brief respite. It was all because of the sorcerer. One conversation had sent him reeling, with his tale curled around his back leg in terror. Thor snorted, causing a small tidal wave and scaring off the last brave bird that had yet perched in the evergreens ringing his clearing. He thought upon the strange creature that now stunk up his cavern. He hadn’t been thinking all too clearly when he’d grabbed Loki. He’d only seen what that little mortal could do. When he’d loosened that blast, it had propelled Thor backwards through the air, and he’d come down harshly, crumpling his wings beneath him. If Loki had remained conscious after that first blast he would have had Thor at his mercy, his soft belly completely exposed to enemy weapons.  
But dwelling on what could have happened changed nothing, he had to focus on the right now. He had to figure out what to do with Loki.  
         

“Thor, what in the Hel is wrong with you?”

     Thor winced at the familiar voice and sat up. The motion swung his head far above the waters, and he resembled a beast that would send sailors abandoning ship.  
     Water dripped from the spines of his brow, obscuring his vision as a woman emerged from the woods. Brown haired and lovely, she wore a simple leather jerkin and looked downright perturbed to see him. Her eyes were dull with disapproval rather than their usual bright crackle of intelligence.

“Ah, hello Lady Jane. What brings you here?”

“You know why I’m here Thor. I spotted your crimson stain on the horizon. You come to my woods, sighing and sulking. Something is the matter and I demand to know what.”

       Thor smiled down at the girl, who put her hands to her hips and faced a dragon with no fear, just like the day they’d met.  
Thor contemplated heaving himself from the water then, but accepted that half the lake would be running from his scales, and he loathed to drench little Jane.

“I have… done something.”

“Oh lovely.”

      Jane motioned with one hand to continue and with the other she started making strange snapping motions with her wrists. Circles, stars and pentagrams followed in quick succession. At last the dew in the grass dissipated and she knelt. Thor lowered his head and she gently put her hands to his chin, avoiding the spines that lined his throat. She scratched at his scales and he chuckled at that. Jane never did understand their difference in size meant when she touched him it could hardly be felt.

“What did you do Thor?”

     Thor contained a sigh, not wanting to scald Jane with his hot breath. He had to confess to someone. Why the hell had he taken Loki? Why not kill him with the rest?  
     After he’d righted himself from being blasted by that spell, Thor had been furious. And impressed. He hadn’t fought someone with strength that could match his in perhaps four decades. And it was so admirable that something so frail, so delicate had contained such a spirit to fight on until the bitter end.

“I let someone live.”

Jane stood up so quickly Thor had to jerk his head back so she didn’t skewer herself on his spines. Mortals.

“Thor! Not again!”

The reproach in her voice made Thor wince, and try as he might he couldn’t prevent the defensive whine that entered his tone. “Jane but if you saw him…”

“I do not care. Thor you can’t just collect people like they are treasure to be hoarded.”

“But he is… priceless.”

      Thor’s voice got dreamy and a small plume of smoke swirled from his almond-shaped nostrils. Jane shouted in order to shake him from the haze that dragons only seemed to slip into when they thought upon their hoards.

“As were Darcy and I. But you let us go. Remember?”

     Thor had indeed. But the two witches had given him little choice. Sick of the yearly tributes they had braved a younger, wilder dragon of the mountain, volunteered themselves as sacrifices. They had found a dragon in his seventeenth century, full of hormones and flame he could barely control. Thor had lost that fight then, and ever since had held the witches in high esteem. Not just for their prowess in battle, but for their bravery and mercy in letting him live to soar above Asgard once more.

“It is hard to forget, my Lady.”

“We are back to monikers now? It seems you have remembered yourself, my Thor. And as such you remember that you may not keep mortals as pets. You’ll only end up hurting yourself and him. Drop that unfortunate in the nearest city and be done with it.”

       Thor let loose a low rumble at that. Jane gulped a tad. She knew she’d overdone it the second the words left her mouth. She and her coven-sister had taken on the task of mothering the lonely dragon two centuries ago and as such had developed a close bond with the massive creature called the Thunder-Bringer. But despite that bond, Thor was a dragon. They didn’t take kindly with being told what to do and especially did not tolerate disrespect.  
     Thor caught the rolling growl quickly and blinked down at her, eyes turning liquid in immediate remorse. But no apology was uttered, by Thor or any dragon. 

Jane cleared her throat and continued speaking as if they had not been interrupted.

“Why do you want to keep this one anyway?”

“He’s Johtun.”

She conceded the point with a graceful nod of her head, “Unusual to find one so far South. And?”

  
“He’s a dwarf, so small you think he will blow away with the wind. He’s a sorcerer, and yet seems to use his powers only for thievery. And he’s just so full of anger. I have never seen a beast so willing to look a dragon in the eye and court death so freely.”

  
       All this Thor said in an impassioned, dreamy rush. Jane felt her stomach sink. This poor mortal had done the irreparable. Thor seemed to be fascinated by the Jotun. And for a beast that was nearing his seventeen hundredth year, finding something new and exciting was impossible. And yet here Thor was chattering like he was a hatchling.  
She put her fingers to his mouth again and the uneasy silence signaled that they had reached a parting of opinions.

“What’s his name?”

The intended olive branch meant that Thor made an imperceptible twitch forward to lightly, so carefully nudge at the petite magician.  
Jane was knocked back on her back and Thor retracted himself quickly, terrified he’d hurt her.  
Jane rolled up with a laugh.

“Thor!”

“Oops.”

“Oops dragon? How dare you knock a lady to the ground!?”

Thor teased, “I see no lady here.”

Jane gasped in mock-offense and stood. She pulled a heavy gardening glove from a pocket in her tunic and tossed it to the ground. He snorted at the sudden smell of manure. “I challenge you to the swords dragon.”

  
Thor tossed his head and said, calmly, “Jane is this all a pretense to force me to practice my swordsmanship?”

  
She fluttered her lashes and said, “Oh course not.”

  
    Allfather save him from the machinations of sorcerers.  
He growled low and hunkered into the water, steam rising and finally he reached inside himself until lighting began to crackle through his skin.

 

* * *

 

     " _When your life has two paths in which to follow, my littling, the gods send you down the third._ ”  
        How Farbauti would laugh at him now. Loki’s head had starting spinning as he tripped down the mountain, taking the path that had been almost too simple to ascend and now descending had proven treacherous. He’d been off-balance, scraping his skin on sharp rocks, stumbling too close to the precipice, blacking out for moments and quickly recovering. It had been a miracle he’d made it down the mountain, and he had proceeded into the forest, smearing his blood on the barks of the trees. Dirt and sticks had embedded themselves in his wounds as he crawled along the forrest floor. Brambles had ripped at his long hair and sliced into his thighs. Loki knew he was deteriorating rapidly, and even he had started to mock himself. He would die now, and what use was freedom to the dead? Death for his freedom, another fine warrior’s psalm imparted upon him by the Neanderthals of his people.  
        It had been a miracle from the gods when he’d found the cottage, spotting it out of the corner of his eye.  
But of course the gods had only been playing a cruel joke on him, you might think they’d find someone else to mock for a moment. And yet the seemingly abandoned cottage had in fact been the lair of an irate, buxom and utterly irrational witch with wards in place that had his head ringing and explosions flaring in his eyes, blinding him.

  
“Who goes there?”

The door to the cabin banged outwards and the sudden swishing of skirts heralded his next attacker.

      Loki had been only able to mewl and curl in on himself. He had reached the end of his tolerance for pain, and although he had endured much in his past it seemed that, at least in this moment, this was beyond what any mortal could do.  
“Oh shit hey are you dead?”

      A sharp nail poked his side and he groaned in response.

“Great! You aren’t dead… uh yet at least.”

       He blearily looked up at the damn witch who had tried to kill him. Bespectacled and dark he could only wonder at the fact that this girl was the one who’d finally ended him.

“Okay let’s get you inside. And do me a favor, drip some blood on the carpet. Jane picked it out and it is just hideous.”

      A cackle followed that and Loki could only let his head loll, riding waves of pain as he was pulled into the cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that chapter at least made up a little for my absence! I also promised porn and trust me it's on its way.  
> Thank you for your kudos and comments! (and as always editing advice is appreciated)  
> -Arias


	4. Darcy and Jane are the Coolest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Darcy in this chapter! Yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not I'm updating again! This story is so much easier to write when I don't have math homework lemme tell you.

    Loki had never wished he could slip into the frost wastes of the next world more than in those next few hours. He knew magic, knew theoretically its limitations. And he knew that in order for any sorcerer to focus fully on healing they couldn’t be distracted by something as inane as an anesthesia spell. So every snap of his bones realigning, every slow stretching and stitching of his skin, every agonizing recession of blood from beneath his skin was sent sizzling through his nervous system and pushed pure pain through his body. He’d screamed and thrashed and begged the witch to just stop or let him die.

When she’d finished the girl had stared at him, slumped by his side. She looked like she’d just been through a war. Her brown hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks.

Loki managed to croak out, “Hello.”

The girl took her head from her forearms and simply stared at him, with exhaustion sagging the skin beneath her eyes. “Darcy right?”

She said, slowly, “Yeah. You remembered.”

"I did."

“Do you have any idea how close you were to death?”

Loki blinked and said, “It felt bad. I didn’t know how bad.”

“I’ve been working on you for hours. The fact that you didn’t pass out is insane. I’m sorry about that.”

“Sorry? You saved my life.”

They looked at each other and shared a small smile. “So are you going to tell me who you are?”

“Loki.”

She tilted her head to the side at his obvious vagueness and said, “Nice to meetya. So you’re a sorcerer too right?”

Loki’s voice faded a little, and it still sounded like it was being dragged over gravel. “How’d you guess?”

“You shot sparks at me when I was healing your hands.”

“Damn.”

“Don’t worry about it. Was kinda cute to be quite honest. They were like little firecrackers.”

She made a tiny twinkling motion with her fingers, waggling razor sharp black nails in his face. Made him wonder if all magic users shared his weakness for ochre nail paint. His had been painted like that when he’d lived in his apartment. What now felt like a lifetime ago...

“Darcy…”

“Yes, Loki?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

The girl found a sudden burst of energy just as Loki turned his head and threw up all over the rush-strewn floor. Darcy blinked at him from where she had launched herself, rather dramatically with her arms flat against the far wall. When he finally, shakily looked up at her she had a star and moon studded handkerchief over her nose and was looking slightly ill herself.

“Uh yeah I can pickle a toad in three minutes flat but… sorry I cannot handle throw up. Um…”

Darcy picked up a blood soaked towel, no doubt something that had been used earlier in sealing up his filleted flesh. She then threw it over his sick and then looked at the way Loki’s face was still greener than his eyes.

“Loki Whatever-your-last-name-is. If you throw up again I am going to kill you and I really don’t want to do that considering how long it took me to save your life. Kay?”

She glanced at the ground and saw the mess still around. “If Jane doesn’t kill me first. Remind me again why I didn’t leave you for the harpies?”

Loki was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and Darcy found herself unable to sustain her annoyance with his eyelashes fluttering closed and his breathing slowly dropping off.

“Now why couldn’t you do that during healing? Loki. Hmm.”

She smiled at him, thinking that his peaches and cream skin was so cute and no man had business having such pretty hair. Then she took a step back, scooting towards the door.

“Ohkay Darcy-girl stop staring at unconscious people. Resist the creepy.”

Darcy swept from the room in a flutter of purple skirts to go find a mop and broom. She hadn’t needed to use physical labor to clean since her magic had come in at the age of thirteen… in the 85th Silver Moon age. But with no magic to aid her as Loki’s broken body had drained all she had, three floors and several dimensions of storage space within their hovel…. well her cleaning supplies may take a moment to locate.

Luckily if she knew Jane, and she did, she probably had more than enough time.

* * *

 

 

“Come on Thor! Put some back into it!”

Thor brought down a backhand that would have smashed an average man’s head in. Thanks to Jane’s power and experience, it breezed past her. She almost didn’t dodge the sudden follow up of a cut right at her head. She had to drop to miss it, but the damn dragon was spinning away before she could cut at his stomach. She laughed and stumbled backwards a little.

“Almost got me there.”

Her opponent tossed his hair out of his face and stared her down with a candle-bright boyish grin. She pointed her sword down and he dropped his too, luckily they weren’t so far into the match that she worried he wouldn’t respect a lowered sword. His draconian tendencies did come out in his fighting, his berserker spirit, and she tried to utilize that. If Thor had his way he would never need to learn this. Would never shift to mortal form at all.

When they had met he had remembered her whining and groaning over the way the shift felt. Like someone was rubbing him down with ice, numbing him so he could only watch his skin melt and flow until he was standing there mortal and defenseless.

His birth father, Odin the Great and Terrible who fills the skies with molten death, had imparted very little on his son but what he had had been pure arrogance. And when Jane had questioned Thor, Odin's words had coming spewing from between his son’s teeth. Thor had yammered on about how ‘useless’ and ‘undignified’ the ability to shift was. How mortals were ‘inferior’. Darcy had rolled her eyes and with a wave of her hands had jumpstarted his shift. Undignified was her coven sister’s middle name after all.

The dragon had howled for a few weeks, constantly being forced to shift. But he’d soon become comfortable in his second skin and that was something Jane and Darcy had exchanged grateful looks over. After all they’d had no idea at the time if the coven would support their decision to let the dragon live. And if they sent another witch to take care of The Thunderer, then they would follow the plan.

The plan which was to force the dragon into mortal form and as he stood disoriented, to slaughter him quickly and mercilessly. Now that Jane knew Thor. Knew him as her son. Well, it was horrifying now to contemplate how they would have cut him down, would have murdered him.

She tilted her head at the dragon in front of her. Thor wore a light pair of trousers and that was all, one of the many squirreled away in this forest. At this point clothing littered every edge of this grove of dark, misty pines.

But what made her smile was how he looked. Happy and strong. There was no way in hell anyone was going to take her dragon by surprise.

“Jane. What is it? Are you well?”

Oh shit she was crying. “Um yes. Sorry about that. I just.”

Thor’s eyes went narrow. “Don’t you dare.”

“You’re growing up so faaaassstttt!!!!” She burst into tears and rushed into Thor’s arms, who grasped her in wild bewilderment.

“Uh yes….there there?”

Finally Jane pulled away and said, “I can still win this contest. Don’t doubt it for a moment.”

“Oh believe me, my lady, I haven’t any doubts on that account.” His voice was as dry as Nidavellir. Making her giggle and smack his shoulder.

After a swift tightening of the skin by his eyes, a moment of struggle where he tried to conceal his emotion, the dragon lost the battle to remain unaffected. He rolled his shoulder and winced.

“Oh no sorry Thor. I forgot to break the enchantment.”

She pulled back her sleeve and found where the rune had fused to her skin and with a little coaxing it released and fell into her hand. Now that it was no longer pumping strength through her veins she was every bit as weak as a hundred ten pound witch could possibly be.

They may have continued their grinning if suddenly Jane’s face didn’t warp. From adorable contentment, the pleasure that came from being in the company of a good friend to absolute horror. Eyes wide, her fingers came up to claw at her head and she fell to her knees.

“Jane! Jane what is it?”

Thor grabbed her and pulled her to standing and she said, “ _Darcy_. I can’t feel her Thor. She’s gone. _She’s gone_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! I'm so excited about this story again and it's thanks to all your comments. My friends keep asking me why I break into a grin after looking at my laptop and it's because of ya'll!  
> So thank you!  
> (and as always comments as to editing are appreciated. Seriously let me know. I'm one of those people for whom one incorrect word usage can ruin a story so if that's you and I used than/then let a sister know!)
> 
> Oh and PS Thor is so cute I was wondering if I should make him younger than Loki? And if so by how much?  
> (It wouldn't change the storyline I'd just like your input!)


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